


Gods And Monsters

by micina



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:09:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micina/pseuds/micina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But I did, you know. I killed that guy for you. I wanted to show you what I was capable of. Every once in a while, you step out of line, holy Father, and you like to think you have the upper hand. But don't forget. We're evensteven. We're on equal ground."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gods And Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> never finished this properly, but i think it ends on a somewhat......poetic note (if PWP can be called poetic at all) and i like it too much to NOT post it.

Hannibal remained gentle, even as Will brought forth bloody knuckles and eyes with fire behind them. He washed him, extingushed the flames with a glass of wine and quiet speech, kept him close enough that he was constantly aware he was not alone. It calmed him. It calmed both of them. His hand would occasionally steady Will--a tether to reality--with a simple clutch at his elbow. A reminder to stay in the present. It was like electricity, pulsing gently through from body to body. The transferrence was consensual and needed.  
  
Will stood in the kitchen, pale knuckles battered beneath white gauze. The bleeding stopped hours ago but his mind continued to drip. Images of reddened flesh and open wounds, his own and of others. He tried not to focus. Hannibal's steady grip returned, now on his wrist to stay away from bruising skin.  
  
Warmth spread behind him. He was moving. They were getting closer.  
  
"You said you prayed." Hannibal's voice rumbled in his chest, echoed through Will's skeleton when he pressed behind him. His hands spread atop the others. "You must be at least slightly religious to believe there is a higher being listening to your words."  
  
"'Slightly' is the keyword there." Will unconsiously leaned into him.  
  
"Then surely you are familliar with the ten commandments. Among them, 'thou shalt not kill'." His hands traced the form of his arms, slowly and softly. "For one who believes in no God--someone like me--this commandment rings hollow. For one such as yourself... You must feel uneasy." His hands slid back down, fingers featherlight over his skin, tracing veins and discoloration. Breath ghosted in the dip of Will's shoulder. He remained rigid against him.  
  
"I feel... nothing. I feel numb. Like my mind has forgotten how to feel anger or sadness."  
  
"Perhaps it is denying emotions. After all, denial is the first stage of grief." They paused, listening to the other breathe, think. It was broken by Will turning and facing him, head ducked but eyes locked.  
  
"What am I grieving, Dr. Lecter?"  
  
"Your mortal soul." His hand lifted to Will's face, thumb brushing down his features, and he tilted his neck to whisper in his ear, "Would you like to repent for your sins?"  
  
"You're no Father of the Lord."  
  
"I'm not. But I am your psychiatrist, and getting clutter out of your headspace is beneficial." His hands pawed at his shoulders. "And I am sworn to secrecy. You could admit to murder, to sodomy, to hating God himself, and yet even He would not know. I'm not the one praying."  
  
"In the Christian faith, God sees all. He hears everything. What I've done is no secret."  
  
"Not to me either, yet here we are." He kissed Will's earlobe, felt him tense under his hands. "Your all-knowing God is no different from me. He has the ability to give life, and to take it. He knows your deepest secrets. He forgives and loves." He kissed behind the shell of his ear. "So pray to me. Give me your sins."  
  
"I--I don't usually confess." Hannibal hoisted him onto the counter and kissed at his neck. "I don't know the process."  
  
"Ask me for forgiveness." Will gave a quiet "Oh" when Hannibal groped at his thigh and mouthed along his jaw.  
  
"Forgive me, Father," Will began, knees spreading, "for I have sinned." It was a memorized line. A Catholic one, not Christian, but he didn't know what he was anymore. "I murdered. I killed a human being."  
  
"And of your one, how many has God killed? How many have _I_ killed?" As Hannibal's nails brushed along the inner seam of his trousers, Will thought about all the lives lost at those hands. The throats squeezed, the hearts crushed, the very souls destroyed. Adrenaline poured into him. "You are forgiven."  
  
"And forgive me," Will continued, "for impure desires." His voice shook. A vocal betrayal that Hannibal caught, his actions pausing as if to relish the confession. "For wanting my therapist." His voice was hardly more than a whisper. "For killing a man to impress him, to gain his affection enough to have him fuck me." Hannibal stilled, listened, hands slowly tightening on Will's knees.  
  
"Go on." Will tilted his head, brifely made eye contact, then let his bottom lip hover against Hannibal's ear.  
  
"I think that's enough, _O holy Father_." He felt Hannibal shake. "I'm not here to indulge your perverted fantasies. I'm here to confess my sins, remember?"  
  
"Yes, of course." Hannibal moved to step away, but Will's hand splayed across the back of his neck and his ankles hooked behind his knee.  
  
"But I did, you know. I killed that guy for you. I wanted to show you what I was capable of." His fingers slid down the curve of Hannibal's shoulder, toyed with his tie to loosen it, and unfastened the first few buttons of his shirt. That was enough freedom from his clothes to allow Will to grab his throat unobstructed. "Every once in a while, you step out of line, _holy Father_ , and you like to think you have the upper hand. But don't forget. We're evensteven. We're on equal ground. I can kill, and I did it for you so you'd want me _harder_ , so you'd fill me up." He heard him try to gasp under his grip and he relented, took Hannibal's moment of recooperation to his advantage to bite his lip and tug it between his teeth.  
  
"And do you think it worked?" Hannibal asked, voice ever steady, but a dark need behind each gesture and glance. Will rolled his hips forward to meet with the hand creeping up his thigh, pressing his erection into his palm.  
  
"It must have if you're so desperate to touch me." He yanked his head closer, brought lips to ears, made sure they could both whisper. He gave another confident grind into the hand between his legs. "Now confess to _me_. Tell me your secrets, Dr. Lecter."  
  
"Secrets?" He could have mouthed it and still be heard. He had his rapt attention. "Like how seeing you there with that body with that guilty, unsure look on your face made me want to take you, right there? We'd have an audience then. A deceased one, of course, but perhaps you wanted it that way." Will's nails caught on the back of Hannibal's suit, gasping quietly in his ear. It fueled him to grope a little rougher. "You're a good boy, Will. I'd never believed you would have gotten this far."  
  
"Yeah?" Will curled into him and brought a hand to the back of his ashen hair, messing the styled strands with thoughtless scratching. "Did I seem too pure?"  
  
"At one point, yes. Not anymore." He thumbed across the defined form of his cock and heard Will whimper. "Now you're _filthy_. I baptized you well enough, cleaned your wounds and bandaged your spirit. Now you're asking me to fuck you? You know about me and Alana--"  
  
"Mm--I know," he wiggled his hips, "I've imagined both of you while I touch myself." He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, then led Hannibal's fingers beneath the fabric. "I start like this. Steady, slow, imagining Alana between my thighs, using her mouth." He removed his hand from his hair and brought it to Hannibal's other wrist, directed him under his shirt to his nipple. "Meanwhile, you'd twist and pinch here, getting me riled up. But we wouldn't kiss."  
  
"Why not?" Hannibal's voice was frustratingly steady. Will's only continued to break.  
  
"Not till Alana was gone."  
  
"She leaves?"  
  
"Not on purpose," he muttered, choking on a moan as Hannibal fingered under his shirt. "My fantasy always ended up with just you. Maybe I'm just not creative enough. Or maybe--maybe that's just what I wanted most. Am I unsaveable, holy Father?"  
  
"Positively damned," Hannibal confirmed in a growl, mouthing at Will's Adam's apple. He watched with mild interest as Will shimmied himself out of his jeans completely, felt him remove the hand between his legs and bring it to match the other at his chest. "Where does the fantasy go now?"  
  
"You decide," Will whispered, pulling on his tie and kissing the line of his jaw. "Will you fuck me? Will you put your cock in me and sully me further?"  
  
"I thought you claimed God saw all."  
  
"Yet here we are." Hannibal pulled at Will's hips, brought them together to rut against him, both releasing a different toned sigh followed by a needy moan.  
  
"When you imagine killing me, does your mind wander to this, too?"  
  
"Ah--yeah." Will grabbed at his throat again, harder, with both hands. "The thought of squeezing the life from your lungs is too intimate to get away with imagining only that. Once I imagined straddling you and beating you, but soon it was..." He quieted. Hannibal leaned him against the wall and thrust between his legs. It did something wonderful, including making Will's grip cease.  
  
"Continue."  
  
"Mm. Soon it was an image of me riding you while holding you down. I couldn't contain myself."  
  
"Did you come?"  
  
"Everywhere." Curiously, Hannibal looked at Will's briefs, noticed the damp spots, and smiled up at him. He looked sheepish beneath him and he felt powerful once more.  
  
"And you're already so wet and we've hardly begun."  
  
"I want you, _God_ do I want you." Seeing him unravel was delicious, and he wanted more than a taste.  
  
"Give me your fingers," he instructed, and was presented with a couple between his lips. He sucked on them and split them apart with his tongue while carrying him to the island of his kitchen, removing all garments below his waist. He turned his head to remove the digits. "Now ready yourself and let me watch." It didn't take extra convincing. He plunged his first finger into himself with a needy hiss, lids fluttering closed, and Hannibal stood unflinching between his knees.  
  
"Touch yourself," Will requested softly, curls starting to stick to his brow. Hannibal was hesitant, but lowered his trousers and palmed himself, listening to the soft keening of the man beneath him. Had he been weaker, the needy groans as Will pushed in a second finger mixed with his self ministrations would have been enough, but he was trained to endure. "You're no God." Hannibal quirked a brow at him, otherwise unmoving. "You're the devil himself, brought to earth to mess with me."  
  
"Would that make you feel better, to imagine I'm not simply a vengeful God, full of wrath?"  
  
"I don't know." He gasped gently as he inserted a third finger, hips lifting off the table as his prick leaked. "I-I don't know." Hannibal reached for the oil in his cupboard--vegetable, olive, canola, it didn't matter right now--and layered it on, taking a few moments to simply pleasure himself.  
  
"To be fair," he whispered, bending down enough to kiss Will's collarbone, "I've touched myself and thought of you, as well. So we're even." He kissed his cupid's bow and ushered his hand away. "Evensteven." Will pushed off against the counter desperately as Hannibal took both his hands and held them with one above his head, other hand working a nipple. A sigh escaped Will in the form of "please, please, God, please" as he felt the head of Hannibal's cock against his hole, stilling and watching him breathe and beg beneath him. "Maybe you don't deserve this."  
  
"I'd kill ten more men if it meant you finish this."  
  
"Oh, my."  
  
" _Please_."  
  
"I want to ruin you." Will shuddered and met his gaze, chest rising and falling steadily as he waited. Hannibal looked so collected and yet so desperate, a combination Will hadn't thought possible.  
  
"So do it."  
  
If Hannibal was God, Will was his prophet, so blindly bound to his every word and action. It didn't matter if it was in his best interest or not. He wanted all of him.


End file.
